The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Yes,’ Dean confirmed flatly, ‘it was Tony.’

  ‘But what happened? I know you’d had your differences, but—’

  ‘He was going to leave,’ Dean said. ‘And take his patent with him. He was quite adamant about it. We decided to make one last attempt to change his mind, and thought we’d have a better chance away from the office.’

  Vivien closed her eyes briefly, dreading what would come next. ‘But could he do that? Take the patent, I mean? If he’d developed the machine while he was at the firm—’

  ‘Barry wouldn’t sanction the expense.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember now. But—’

  ‘So he worked on it at night and weekends, in his own time. We’d have had no legitimate claim to it. God, Viv, we never meant to harm him, but we were stressed out of our minds about the firm and this would have saved our bacon.’ He paused. ‘Did save our bacon.’

  ‘So you killed him?’

  Neither man spoke and, stumblingly, she worked out a terrible scenario. ‘Then you heaved him into the boat … and rowed out with him … and … oh my God!’

  She released Barry and sank back on her heels, staring unbelievingly at these men she’d been close to most of her life, yet had perhaps not known at all.

  ‘Go on!’ Barry instructed in that broken whisper. ‘Tell her the rest.’

  ‘The rest? God in heaven, you’re not saying that young couple … No!’ She put her hands over her ears.

  Dean recited the bare facts like an automaton. ‘He was on a ledge, snapping us. The light glinted on his camera, so Barry went after him.’

  She searched desperately for reasons not to believe him. ‘But how could you know who he was, or where to find him?’

  ‘It was his sweatshirt – he’d worn it the day before, at the fête. Someone said he was staying at the Barlow cottage.’

  There was a long silence, then, speaking almost to herself, Vivien said softly, ‘I can just about understand, in the state you were in, that you temporarily lost control and lashed out at Tony, but to be callous enough to row out and dump his body …’

  They waited, motionless, for her to continue.

  ‘And then to go after that young man – who might have been simply snapping the view – and kill him too, and his wife!’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘I don’t know how they died, and I don’t want to. But – oh, God, whatever state of mind you were in, that was premeditated!’

  Another long silence, the only sound in the still room that of their breathing. Then Vivien said dully, ‘And that was what brought on the stroke?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dean replied with remembered bitterness. ‘Leaving me to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Vivien agreed, in a new, hard voice. ‘You got off pretty lightly, didn’t you, Barry? You inherited the patent, the firm prospered and you’ve lived happily ever after, without even the memory of what you did to haunt you. Until now. Well …’ She rose to her feet. ‘Now we have to tell the police.’

  The two men gazed at her incredulously, identical expressions on their faces.

  ‘We can’t do that!’’ Barry exclaimed.

  ‘What difference would it make now?’ blustered Dean.

  ‘So you continue to get away with it? No! Those young people deserve to know the truth. And so,’ she added after a beat, ‘does Marilyn.’

  Dean reached out blindly, fumbled for a chair and sank on to it. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he demanded in a shaking voice.

  ‘Do you think I could live with either of you, knowing what I know now? As for Marilyn …’

  Dean leant forward urgently. ‘Think for a moment, Viv. What possible good could it do? It would destroy her, and as for the two who started all this, they never knew their parents. OK, they’re curious about what happened to them, but that’s all. It’s not as though they remember them personally. And to be strictly accurate,’ he added in belated self-defence, ‘I didn’t kill anybody!’

  ‘“Accessory after the fact”, isn’t that the expression? God help me, I accept that Barry committed the murders, but he was incapable of anything further. It was you who tidied things up after him. And a damn good job you made of it!’ she ended bitterly.

  Into another silence the clock in the hall chimed eight times.

  ‘I must get back,’ Dean said. ‘She’ll be wondering what’s keeping me.’ But he made no move to rise.

  Barry reached pleadingly for his wife’s hand, but she moved away.

  ‘I’ll give you both till tomorrow evening to get your act together and turn yourselves in,’ she said. ‘If you haven’t done so by then, God help me I’ll report you myself.’

  Marilyn’s night-time imaginings no longer disappeared with the coming of daylight. Increasingly over the last two weeks she’d been haunted by the possibility that the young couple’s murder was somehow related to Tony, though she couldn’t for the life of her see how. Even if by some fluke they had witnessed his accident or whatever it was, why should that have led to their deaths?

  Nor could she tie in the change in Dean’s behaviour, though in her unsettled state she could have exaggerated that, and the half-formed fear, originating with Adam’s comment, that the day’s third disaster – Barry’s stroke – might also have a connection, was out of the question; after their golf game he and Dean had gone walking on the moors, which was where he’d been taken ill. They’d been nowhere near the lake.

  In an attempt to dismiss her doubts she took the morning paper into the drawing room and had just sat down when Vivien phoned. ‘Will you be home all morning?’ she asked, her voice unusually grave.

  Marilyn felt a prick of apprehension. ‘Yes?’

  ‘All right if I pop round in about half an hour?’

  ‘Aren’t you working?’

  ‘From home today. Allegedly.’

  Marilyn waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. ‘I’ll have coffee ready,’ she said.

  One glance at her sister-in-law’s strained face, the shadows under her eyes and her general air of distraction resurrected Marilyn’s dormant fears. This, she knew at once, was to do with Tony.

  Heart hammering, she stood aside for her to enter and led the way into the drawing room, where a coffee pot awaited them. Vivien seated herself and Marilyn poured the coffee with surprisingly steady hands.

  ‘Well?’ she said, passing her a cup.

  ‘I’ve come to ask for your help,’ Vivien said in a low voice, ‘though God knows I’ve no right to.’

  Thoughts, fears and suspicions, buried for years, collided to form a composite whole. In direct contradiction to previous conclusions, Marilyn said with certainty, ‘Barry was there, wasn’t he? At the lake?’

  Vivien’s eyes widened and she hastily set down her cup. ‘Has Dean …?’ But he couldn’t have, or her question would have been superfluous. She drew a deep breath. ‘Marilyn, I’m so very sorry. Yes, Barry was there – but so was Dean.’

  Marilyn lowered herself carefully into a chair, holding her mind in abeyance. ‘What happened?’

  Vivien leaned forward. ‘You must believe me, I knew nothing about this when we had lunch, but it was what you told me that brought it all to a head.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We didn’t see much of each other in those days, did we?’ Vivien went on steadily as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘But you must have been aware we were in desperate straits financially. The firm was going under fast and Barry was under an enormous strain, not sleeping, drinking too much, working all hours. If you remember, we had to sell our home, move into that awful little house and send Daphne to the local comp. Only a miracle could save us, and lo, a miracle materialized in Tony’s inspired idea for a revolutionary machine. He argued that it would save us thousands and lead to the firm growing bigger and more prosperous than ever.’

  ‘Go on,’ Marilyn said aridly, her coffee untouched on the table beside her.

  Vivien’s eyes dropped to her knotted hands. ‘But Barry
wouldn’t finance it. He daren’t risk the capital outlay on what he feared might prove to be only a pipe dream.’

  She glanced at Marilyn, but her face was expressionless. ‘So, as you must know, Tony did all the work on it at home and, as you also know, the machine was all he’d claimed for it. But he resented Barry’s lack of faith in him and decided to retain ownership of his invention instead of passing it to the firm – which, since he’d worked on it in his own time, he was entitled to do. On top of that, he gave in his notice.’

  Marilyn’s head jerked up. ‘I never knew that!’

  ‘He didn’t tell you he was leaving Ferrises?’ Vivien stared at her unbelievingly.

  ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t. I’d have remembered.’

  ‘He’d come into some money from an aunt, apparently, and was going to use it to set up his own business in Surrey. Perhaps,’ she added, ‘he didn’t want to worry you till it was all settled. After all, you weren’t interested in the business, were you?’ Despite herself, accusation had crept into Vivien’s voice.

  It was well deserved, Marilyn knew. Much as she’d loved Tony, it was true his work hadn’t interested her, any more than Dean’s had. Dean! Her breath caught. God! But Vivien was continuing.

  ‘They tried desperately to persuade him to stay, offered him a partnership – which they should have done long before – but it was too late. He’d made up his mind and he wouldn’t change it.’

  ‘So they killed him,’ Marilyn said flatly.

  ‘They knew he’d gone fishing, and hoped that away from the distractions of the office they might talk him round, but it was no good. I don’t know the details – only that Barry suddenly snapped, lashing out and knocking Tony to the ground. And when they realized he … wasn’t breathing, they panicked and put him in the boat.’

  ‘No!’ Marilyn breathed, her hands to her mouth. ‘Please, no!’ Then, dragging her mind from the horrors of her husband’s death, ‘But that couple …?’

  ‘The man had been on the hill taking photos. They were afraid he’d seen what happened so Barry went after him, and … of course his wife was there.’ Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. ‘That was what brought on his stroke,’ she continued after a minute. ‘Dean arrived later, you must believe that, and by the time he got there the couple were dead and Barry was completely out of it.’

  ‘It was Barry who did all the killing?’ Marilyn asked from a parched throat.

  Vivien nodded, tears trickling unchecked down her face. ‘When he came round he’d lost his memory – that was genuine, Marilyn – and it’s only in the last month or two that it’s started to come back. All these years it’s been Dean who’s borne the burden of it.’

  ‘And married me out of guilt and pity.’

  ‘No! You mustn’t think that! He’s always been crazy about you. He still is!’

  Marilyn put the thought aside to re-examine later. ‘You said you wanted my help.’

  Vivien dried her eyes. ‘Yes. When I finally learned the truth I gave them till this evening to turn themselves in. We haven’t spoken of it since, but I made it clear that if they didn’t, I’d go to the police myself. And I’d … very much like you to come with me.’

  ‘Of course,’ Marilyn said matter-of-factly. ‘They might go more willingly, though, if we all went together.’ She caught Vivien’s surprise. ‘As to Dean, it’s far too soon for any decisions, but I don’t mind accompanying him and Barry to the police station. In fact, I feel I owe it to Tony.’

  Empty-headed little Marilyn had more backbone than she’d given her credit for, Vivien thought admiringly. ‘I’ll suggest it, certainly,’ she said, ‘but if they try to put it off for any reason, we’ll go alone. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Marilyn replied.

  While Adam and Kirsty had been at the station darkness had fallen, but the police forecourt was brilliantly floodlit, and they were further illuminated by the headlamps of a car turning in at the gateway and parking in a vacant slot.

  ‘Odd to think,’ Adam commented as they started down the steps, ‘that Dad will have solved his own murder, as well as Mum’s and Tony Vine’s.’

  So he’d finally dispensed with ‘Mark and Emma’, Kirsty noted thankfully. ‘Do you really think it’s over?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Bar the shouting,’ Adam replied with confidence.

  The four people from the car were walking towards them, and Adam suddenly gripped her arm. ‘My God, look who it is! The mountain is coming to Mohammed!’

  Kirsty gasped as she recognized the man nearest to them as Dean Ferris. The other was obviously his brother, and her throat closed as, almost unbelievingly, she finally faced the men who’d killed her parents. Then Marilyn caught sight of them, gave an exclamation, and they came to a halt. After a swift, startled glance, the two men averted their eyes but Marilyn detached herself from the group and, as the others continued towards the building, came over to Adam and Kirsty.

  ‘I want to thank you,’ she said in a low voice. ‘My husband and brother-in-law are about to make a statement, but it might never have happened if you’d not come asking questions. At very long last, Tony and your parents will finally receive justice, and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.’

  Neither of them spoke, and after a moment she nodded in acknowledgement of their wordlessness and went to rejoin the others. Tightly gripping each other’s hands, Adam and Kirsty watched them go slowly up the steps and into the police station.

  TWENTY-TWO

  So it was over. While the Lakeland murderers were finally being brought to justice, events had moved fast in Westbourne. The town was buzzing with the revelation that local author Matthew Armstrong had been charged both with the murder of PC Megan Taylor and the rapes that had taken place in Bellington and Lacy Park. DNA found at all three scenes matched that obtained from the suspect during another incident – thankfully unspecified.

  Kirsty shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Chrissie. How can she possibly come to terms with this?’

  ‘Just as well she’s with her family in Brighton,’ Angie observed. ‘I doubt if she’ll ever come back; someone said their house is going on the market.’

  ‘In the report I read, police had found what were referred to as “incriminating documents” in his study. You’d have thought he’d be more careful, wouldn’t you, than write anything explicit in a diary or whatever? No doubt more details will emerge at the trial.’ She shook her head again. ‘I still have difficulty believing the whole thing; I keep thinking of him at the tennis club and the library and at his house. He seemed so – ordinary.’

  Angie gave a short laugh. ‘I doubt if he’d thank you for that!’

  Unaware and uncaring that he was the subject of so much speculation, Matt in his custody cell had retreated into a world of his own in which nothing was quite as it seemed. His mind continually went back over the acts he had committed, relishing the reliving of them: the girl from the train, snooty Alicia and the policewoman. Well, he’d taught them a lesson all right; too bad he’d not had the chance to take more of them down a peg or two. And Kirsty. Ah, Kirsty!

  It had been exciting, that time she’d been in the car, totally unaware of what he had planned for her. Of course, he should never have stopped when he saw her on the corner. It had been a risk, but suddenly catching sight of her had thrown him. Obviously there’d been nothing he could do then, but knowing what lay in store had been deliciously tantalizing. Pity it would have to go on hold for a while, but next time he’d make sure there was no way she could escape him.

  In the book he was now writing he’d called the heroine Karen – as close as he dared go. It was strangely satisfying being able to manipulate her, in print if not in life. He wondered suddenly if he could request his computer and files, and finish the book while he was here? Jeffrey Archer had done it, hadn’t he, not to mention Wilde! He’d ask the warder who brought in his meals.

  Smiling to himself, Matt began to plan his next chapter.

  �
�Kirsty?’

  She stiffened, her heartbeat quickening. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Nick.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Look, I’ve been aware for some time that I owe you an apology, but I didn’t want to intrude when you and Adam had so much going on.’

  ‘I’m sorry too, Nick. I could have been a lot more forthcoming.’

  ‘Does that mean you forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. Really.’

  ‘Then can we start again?’ He laughed. ‘I seem to remember saying that before!’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll get it right this time.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. How about Saturday? I gather from Adam that on Sunday you’re lunching with the family.’ A smile crept into his voice. ‘Does that mean he’s been welcomed back into the fold?’

  ‘Very definitely! With our parents’ murders solved at last, my aunt and uncle can’t do enough for him, and the lines have been buzzing between here and Canada. It looks as though the long family rift is at last over.’

  ‘Well, that’s great news!’

  It was indeed, Kirsty thought. The family was coming together, the murders were solved and her mystery stalker was unmasked and behind bars. And, perhaps best of all, over the last few months she and Adam had become as close as any other brother and sister. All at once the future looked much brighter – and maybe, just maybe, Nick would be a part of it.

  ‘And to answer your question,’ she said, ‘I’d love to see you on Saturday.’